““Well then, what’s the problem?” “It’s not honorable!” “Oh.” Elka snorted. “Is that all?” “All?” I gaped at her. “It’s everything!” She rolled her eyes and settled back on the padded bench of the cart we rode in. “You’re a slave, little fox,” she said. “You don’t have honor anymore.” But she was wrong. I knew there had to be more to honor than just one’s station in life. That was what Sorcha had taught me: that actions meant more than accolades. That honor was something worth fighting for—and dying for—no matter what house you were born into.””
